


Comfort

by Fantine_Black



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Childhood Trauma, Christmas Truce of 1914, Consensual Mind Control, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Germany, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mother-Son Relationship, Not Really Character Death, Short & Sweet, World War I, World War II, X-Men: First Class References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik knows it isn't right.<br/>Erik knows it isn't real.</p><p>He doesn't care.</p><p>The only thing that’s important is his mother in his arms, and all the forces in the world couldn’t tear him away, not this time, not ever.</p><p>Never again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> You can find a translation of the German words at the end.

He’d know this door from anywhere. He’d tried to etch it into his memory when they whisked him away in the dead of night (just a visit, Erik, to aunt Rosa and uncle David, you remember them, don’t you?) without his star and with new papers, because he knew, absolutely knew, that he’d never see it again.

 _Go on, ring the bell,_ Charles thinks at him.

 _I’m not ringing that_ , he thinks angrily. _We’re being played. There could be anything behind that door. Guns. Booby traps. Dragons…_

 _Dragons?!_ Charles snorts before he rings the bell himself. _You read too much, lovely._

Erik still pushes him aside as he hears something approach _(watch the flowers!)_ feeling every muscle in his body tighten, every cell searching for metal. There’s no time for a force field, but he can manage shrapnel – he readies himself as he feels the lock turn...

“Mama?”

He needs one look, one fraction of a second, and he doesn’t care what happens, if there are dragons in there after all. The only thing that’s important is his mother in his arms, and all the forces in the world couldn’t tear him away, not this time, not ever.

Never again.

Edie startles a little, but he cannot let go, cannot bear for this moment to ever end. When his mother’s arms close around him he breaks, his body shuddering with sobs, his face contorted in a silent scream.

“Mama…”

“Shh…” she says, stroking his hair. “Alles ist gut…Erik, Schätzchen, alles ist doch gut…”

And these words nearly kill him because it’s not alright, she’s dead because of him, and that can never be forgiven, should never be forgiven…

But her kiss on his cheek is so soft he cannot hate right now, not even himself. Instead he pulls back to stare at her face.

“You’re here.”

She smiles. “Of course I’m here. We’ve been expecting you.” She reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief, then dabs at his face. “There.” She kisses him again before letting go and turning around.  “Where is that man? Jakob!”

And however many years have passed, Erik finds himself standing a little straighter, because it’s simply unthinkable to greet Jakob Lehnsherr other than with his head held high. But when he sees his father appear, he doesn’t see the raised eyebrows, the slight smile and the twinkle in his eye he used to greet him with after longer absences; instead, Jakob walks straight to him, opens his arms and embraces him tightly.

“Junge!”

He feels a tremor pass through his father’s body, but he’s still so strong that Erik feels safe, safe enough to rub his cheek against his father’s beard and close his eyes.

“Vati!”

They stand a little longer, Erik breathing in his scent, soap and just a dab of cologne, a smell that reminds Erik of pony rides, games of chess and lullabies in the dark. Then they both cry too, and laugh, and Erik can find it in his heart to let go.   

Edie is smiling too. “Erik, darling, weren’t you going to introduce us?”

Erik shakes his head in confusion, then turns to Charles, who is standing back demurely, radiating happiness. He steps forward as Erik splutters :“Mother, father, this is, er… Charles.” As they both keep looking at him expectantly, he goes on. “Xavier. Professor Charles Xavier.”

Jakob nods approvingly, but Mama’s eyes widen. “Professor?” she says, glancing over at him, and she lowers her eyes as Charles hands her the flowers, bowing slightly. 

“Gnädige Frau.”

Erik has never seen his mother blush this deeply. “Herr Professor,” she murmurs, “such an honour,” and Erik swears she’s fiddling with her hair. He frowns at him.

_‘Gnädige Frau’, Charles? Really?_

_You want them to like me,  don’t you?_

He pulls a face. _Like you, yes. Not worship you!_

He somehow feels Charles’ laughter reverberate through him before he shakes Vati’s hand.“Mr. Lehnsherr. Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Come in, Herr Professor, please come in,” Mama urges, but when Vati and Charles enter the living room, she holds Erik back. “Why didn’t you tell me your friend was a professor?!”

 _Five minutes ago your were dead,_ Erik thinks dully. _I didn’t think to share details._ Instead he says: “Charles is not like that, Mama. He’s… he’s Charles.” And even if he will never be able to find words to describe the delight that surges through him at the sound of that name, Mama seems to read it in his face.

“But a professor!” she says, exasperated, “what must he think of us?”

What must Charles think of them? Erik can only laugh at that. “He will love you,” he says. “He can’t not love you.” And he follows her into the living room, where Charles is chatting to his father, who doesn’t speak a word of English (whereas Charles can barely cobble together two German sentences on a good day).

It’s not real. And he doesn’t care.

 It’s not real, because it’s like he’s always wished: Mama and Vati together again, touching hands almost subconsciously; Vati dishing out gooseberry cake while Mama keeps pouring them coffee; Charles wrapping his mother around his little finger while losing a chess game to Vati, but only just; Vati reciprocating by showing Charles his hunting trophies.

But it’s not right.

Every few moments Erik can see it: the fear in Vati’s eyes when their names were called for deportation, Mama’s crazed look when they were separated the first time, the plea in her eyes as she told him all was well –

 _Erik,_ Charles thinks, _calm your mind,_ but he can’t, because now they’re in the train again, excrements pooling round their feet, as old Channah Leibowitz keeps screaming -

He stands up and bolts for the hallway, stopping under their old grandfather clock. He prays for the ticking to help steady him, but it does not; the pain is still too raw, too poisonous. His surroundings are becoming  less solid as he hears Mama’s voice:

“Erik?”

It’s Mama, but not in her favourite sleek skirt and jacket, nor with blossom in her cheeks. Her face is gaunt, and she’s wearing the dress he saw her in last; thick black stripes on a graying background, a dirty red rag covering her hair.

“I killed him for you, Mama,” he growls. “I drove that coin straight through his head.”

She says nothing;  only looks at him with eyes full of sympathy and pain.  

“I’ve made them pay,” he says, his voice hoarse. “All of them. The doctors. The nurses. Even the clerks.”

She takes him in her arms. “Erik, Schatz… You can’t heal pain by causing it…”

“I must,” he says. “I was supposed to protect you…”

“Sometimes we can’t.” He lifts his head to see Vati, like he’s never seen him before: Hauptmann Jakob Lehnsherr, sixth German army, the iron cross on his lapel. But it’s not the gala uniform Vati used to show him. His clothes are a dusty green, almost grey, patched, torn and muddy.

Erik lets go of Mama, who takes Vati’s hand.

“My brother Erich. I swore to protect him.” He gulps something down. “I shot him instead.”

“You shot uncle Erich?”

Vati nods.

“But why?”

“He’d been in no man’s land the whole night,” Vati says. “Screaming for mercy. It was the only thing I could do.” He takes a step forward and touches his arm. “I hated them after that, Junge. The French, Russians, English. I wanted them dead. Every last one.”

Erik looks in his eyes and sees his own cold bloodlust staring back at him.

But Jakob’s never looked at him that way.

Erik swallows. “What changed?”

Jakob laughs. “I met an Englishman. Several, in fact. But one found Erich’s letters, and gave them back to me.”

Erik scoffs. “Really? Did he throw them?”

Jakob shakes his head. “He visited my trench.”

Erik blinks. “But how?”

“We met at Christmas, during the truce,” Jakob said. “But none of us would end it. We were all too weary, too tired of war.” He sighs. “We had no idea.”

Erik shakes his head. “But that’s treason!” He looks at Vati. “Weren’t you reported? Why were you not shot?”

Mama laughs sadly. “Erik, haven’t you learnt by now? Not all men follow orders…”

These words hit him straight in the heart, split him open… He stumbles, falters, falls to his knees –

And wakes up.

Charles’ hand is cupping his cheek, two fingertips lightly touching his temple.

“Are you alright?”

Erik feels himself shaking. “He’s never said anything,” he whispers. “About the war. Not one word.”

Charles lightly brushes his forehead. “I can only work with what’s inside you, Erik. He must have said something with you in the room. People don’t often mince words around babies.”

“I’d just hoped it wouldn’t hurt so much.” Pretty slim pickings, if this was the happiest part of Erik’s mind Charles could access…

Charles puts his arms around him, then kisses the nape of his neck. “For what it’s worth, I loved meeting your parents. And your father does play a good game of chess.”

Erik smiles. “Little else to do in a ghetto. For fun, I mean.” He pulls Charles close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything.”

They speak little more; just kiss, both exhausted. He lets Charles curl himself up in his arms, his body heat warming his heart. Then he lies awake, eyes on the ceiling.

He read a story once, about a mermaid girl. She was rough and wild and had no soul, yet  fell for a human prince. Her chance at love came at a terrible price: for to live and love as a human, she’d have to endure constant pain. Each step on earth would feel like walking on knives, and each single day she’d be bleeding.

But of course she chose him.

And oh, had her prince known of her pain, he might wrap her in furs and have her carried to and fro, but bleed she still would, and be happy.

For she’d know life and love, but she’d never know peace.

 Peace was never an option.  

**Author's Note:**

> Schatz/Schätzchen: (little) sweetheart  
> Alles ist doch gut: (approx) Everything's alright now  
> Junge: boy/son  
> Vati: Daddy (slightly formal, somewhat old fashioned)  
> Gnädige Frau: Madam (archaic, very formal) (Charles is being a greaseball and he knows it!)  
> Hauptmann: Captain


End file.
